The stillness in Professor Mirea's office was stifling.
Elira stood taut beside the massive obsidian-framed window, its crystal panes reflecting moonlit glints on the ancient shelves of spellbooks and jars of shimmering dust. The scent of charred incense and ancient parchment hung in the air, mingling with the tension churning in her stomach.
Professor Mirea looked at her across the cluttered desk heaped with scrolls and glowing orbs. Her lavender-colored eyes—legend has it that they see deeper than truth—were unreadable.
"You burned a classmate," she stated finally, voice smooth but icy. "In front of a hundred witnesses. And you hurt your bonded."
"I didn't mean to," Elira spoke quickly. "It was an accident. I lost control. I—
"You illuminated the entire dueling area with Aether light," Mirea cut in. "That is not loss of control, Miss Thorne. That is expression of power."
Elira clenched her fists, not backing down. "Would you rather that I allowed Lorian to attack me?"
The professor tilted her head. "Would you rather that I brought this incident to the Council's attention?"
Elira's heart stuttered.
"You wouldn't."
"I'm not sure yet."
The candles' flames danced. Shadows danced across Mirea's elegant features, and for an instant, she looked like something out of a worn old book of magic—old and mysterious.
"I did not request this bond," Elira breathed. "Or this magic. I came to Arcanis hoping to learn. I don't want to hurt anyone. But I'm not going to apologize for protecting myself."
The silence stretched. Then, to her surprise, Mirea leaned back in her chair and sighed.
"You're brave," she murmured. "That's both your strength and your greatest danger. Especially now."
"Why now?"
The professor reached into her desk drawer and placed a sealed parchment on the table. The wax bore the sigil of the High Council—a circle of thorns enclosing a star.
"They sent a watcher," Mirea said.
Elira's blood ran cold. "What does it mean?"
"It means that someone will be following your every move from now on. Your lessons. Your interactions. Your dreams, even—if they can uncover it."
Elira stumbled over a denial. "I haven't done anything wrong."
"You have the blood of Aetherion. And you're a thrall of the Void Prince," Mirea said with no inflection. "That alone makes you a danger to them."
She swallowed hard. "What do I do?"
"Keep your head down. Train in secret. Don't give them a reason to act before you're ready."
"Ready for what?"
Mirea stood. Her robes shimmered like oil and starlight. "To survive."
---
Kael saw her beneath the Weeping Tree in the courtyard—a sacred place where students left lanterns to honor deceased ancestors. It was too early still for much activity, the leaves above silver and quiet. A few lanterns floated in the water beneath the roots of the tree, the flames flickering like small stars.
Elira did not look up as he approached.
"They're watching me," she said.
Kael didn't even ask how she knew. He simply sat beside her on the fountain's edge, not moving.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispered. "I don't know how to be someone they fear."
"You don't have to be someone they fear," Kael said. "You just have to be someone they can't control."
She laughed with bitterness. "Easy for you to say. You stride through this academy like a ghost no one will touch. I'm still the crestless girl who stumbled in from nowhere."
"Not anymore," he said. "Now you're the girl who burned the heir of House Crestvale to ashes with Aether light. The girl whose soul is bound to me.".
Elira looked at him. "And what does that make me? A weapon?"
His jaw tightened. "It makes you dangerous. But that doesn't necessarily mean weapon."
She stared at her hands, tucking them into fists. "I want to learn to control it. Really control it."
"I'll teach you," he replied without hesitation.
She blinked. "You will?"
Not here," Kael said. "There is a place. A hidden room in the east wing. No surveillance, old wards. Closed to students, but—"
"When do we start?"
He smiled faintly. "Now."
---
They made it to the hidden room past midnight, covered in deceptions Kael exhaled into the air. The door to the room was concealed behind a decaying tapestry, one that opened only when Kael laid his hand across a stone carved with a sigil of nothing.
Inside, dark and hollow, full of power and reverberations.
An arc of ancient runes encircled the center, their light responding to Kael's arrival.
Elira stepped into the circle and her skin crawled instantly. Magic vibrated beneath her feet like a heartbeat.
"This is a sanctum for soul training," Kael said. "Used ages ago to stabilize opposing magic. It's not safe. But it's our best choice."
Elira looked around. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Use your magic," he told her. "Feel for it. But don't force it. You have to let it react."
She closed her eyes and breathed.
For a moment, nothing.
Then—fire.
A burst of gold behind her closed eyelids. A feeling of sunlight breaking through the clouds.
Her chest ached, and the mark above her heart burned—glowing, blazing, demanding.
A sphere of light blossomed in her palm.
She gasped. The light pulsed with her heartbeat. Alive. Starving.
Kael stepped into the circle and raised his hand.
"Now fight mine," he commanded, letting a thread of void magic ooze from his palm.
It crawled towards her, black and cold, and for a moment, the bond between them shook.
Elira raised her hand instinctively, and the light met the void in mid-air with a flash of sparks. The chamber shuddered.
The two powers fought—but didn't cancel.
They danced.
Opposition, not destruction.
Elira's eyes widened. "They're not enemies."
Kael's slow nod. "They're mirrors."
---
They trained until the sky brightened with morning.
Each practice carried her farther—past weariness, past terror.
Elira mastered using light as a blade, defending her mind, sensing Kael through the link even when they weren't speaking. And he, in turn, began to let her see glimpses of his history.
He led her in dreams of his kingdom—once moonlit plains and whispering streams—now a mausoleum of darkness. He spoke of the curse that had been placed upon him when he was just ten winters old. The Void Throne had chosen him—but at a cost.
"I used to scream in my sleep," he said to her one night, as they huddled together by a guttering lantern. "Until the bond. Now… it's quieter."
Elira leaned against the cold wall. "Perhaps I was to be your silence."
Kael looked at her, and for the first time, the metal in his eyes relaxed. "And perhaps I was to be your flame."
---
Peace never lasted long in Arcanis.
The next week, when they navigated their way back to the academy's halls, they were met with a new notice posted on the bulletin board:
"Observer Appointed by Council: Archon Selvarien to oversee magical conduct of Elira Thorne and Kael Valen."
Kael stiffened beside her. "Selvarien," he snarled. "They sent him."
"Who is he?" Elira asked.
Kael didn't answer right away. His face had shut down again.
"He signed my father's death warrant," he stated. "And he tried to kill my mother before the Council."
Elira's heart pounded. "Then we're not just being watched."
"No," Kael said. "We're being hunted."